


Doing God's Work

by EyebrowObsession



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Horror, Angel of God Spy, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Gore, Horror, Murder, Other, Possessed Spy, Psychological Horror, Religion, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4636389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyebrowObsession/pseuds/EyebrowObsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith can perform wonders on the godless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing God's Work

Faith can do wonders on the godless. 

And Spy was never a religious man. 

His own thoughts repeat over and over in his hear, getting louder and louder, like microphone feedback through an amp. The syllables are pulling at his joints. The vowels are shredding his tendons. Evert breath is like fire and glass cuts. He screams, his jaw pulling down and down and down until it snaps his head in half. He can't see the blood smearing the insides of his eyelids. He can't taste the sulfur on his tongue. He can't hear the forgotten words of the earth, the tones of a disappointed god, the pleads to do his work. 

Respawn was always hell, but this time, he knows hell is real. 

Make it go away, make it go away, he screams, teeth exploding and tongue writhing on pain. He has no voice. 

Spy must accept, he must accept and repent. He must do God's work. He has been chosen. He has been spared. 

Anything, anything to take this hell away. To see God's face in an expression of love instead of agony at their sin. 

Their sin, it's burning him, eating him like moths eat a coat. He can feel their claws digging apart his atoms. The pain is never ending. 

Accept and repent. Do God's work. Let him bless you. Let your body be free of sin. Be his angel. Chosen you were chosen. 

The voice is many. Many who beg and cry for him to do what is right. Be his angel. Be his angel. 

\---------------- 

There is a Spy standing in respawn. He has not moved for several minutes.His face is pale, his eyes glossy. His suit is black. He does not breath. He does not blink. 

A Scout respawns beside him. As he goes to race past, he bumps his shoulder. 

"Freakin' move it!!" The Scout snaps, turning to his team mate. The Bostonian's face wrinkles with confusion, and he steps forward to jab Spy in the chest with his gun. 

"..... Yo, you there Frenchie?" 

The Spy inhales. His lips pull and curl into a smile without teeth, pupils pinpricks in pale blues. He slowly turns his head to the younger man. 

Scout backs up as he feels something burning cold grip his soul. 

The Spy seems to radiate joy. It's as if an energy has filled him from the inside out. His voice is high with ecstacy and desperation. Shaking hands grip the Scout's shoulders. Every breath shakes his chest with a quiet wheeze. The Scout is frozen in place as the Frenchman finally finds words. 

"Today is the first day, and on this day, there is light." 

Scout screams as he is shoved over, Spy's face an everlasting expression of joy. The older man straddles his victims chest. Finger tips rip open fabric, then flesh and bone. The Bostonian is screaming even louder now, singing praises with an angel. Spy is screaming too, ruby red spilling and spraying onto his suit and into his open mouth. His hands grip both halves of the man's chest, ripping them apart with a wet sounding crack. 

Scout isn't screaming anymore, his eyes glazed, breaths ragged. He whimpers and cries, snot running down his face. Spy pants and sobs tears of joy, which splash onto the exposed beating heart in a broken chest. 

His eyes suddenly roll back, gagging and choking wetly. His tongue is pressed into his teeth as a single black hand reaches from his maw, dislocating his jaw. It reaches into Scout's chest and rips the source of his life from its anchoring. The hand recedes, dying heart clenched in its iron fist, and Spy's head seems to click back into place. 

The last thing Scout sees is Spy standing, pale blues watching, the man's shadow writhing with dislocated joints and eyes of white. 

Scout doesn't respawn.


End file.
